Thunder and Lightning
by epitomeofdelena1
Summary: Jasper/Eleanor, prequel to 1x01, slight AU: I didn't know it at the time, but that was the very moment that my entire life changed course. And nothing in this world could have prepared me for what—or who—would come next.
1. Thunder

_**AN: Hi, everyone! I recently just started watching The Royals and for the first time in almost two years, I had the inspiration to write. I rode the wave of motivation and this is part one of what I came up with. It's the beginning of Jasper and Eleanor's story, starting with a little bit of insight to Jasper's past. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I can't wait to share the next part of this story with you. If you would like to chat about anything related to The Royals or Jaspenor, you can find me on twitter and tumblr at epitomeofdelena and if you have a moment, please leave a review and let me know what you think. Happy reading!**_

* * *

 **Part One: Thunder**

I never had a family—not really.

I grew up in a household with two addicts as parents. You name their vice: sex, drugs, booze, gambling—they did it all, and they did it often. For the first sixteen years of my life, it was all I knew, all that surrounded me. I can't remember a day that substance abuse didn't taint their very existence. The only good part I can ever remember was my brother, Jaxon.

For the longest time, it felt like Jaxon was the only other person in the entire world that could possibly understand what I was going through: the constant loneliness that came from my parents ignoring us, only paying attention when it suited them. The never-ending fear that wracked my body every time their coked-out drug dealer busted his way into our tiny, one-bedroom apartment, demanding money I know for a fact we didn't have. The pain that came with Jaxon's skin turning black and blue from bruises I know in my heart neither of us deserved.

It was always the two of us against the world.

Until one day, it wasn't.

Jaxon left me behind for the first and last time when he was fourteen years old, and he never looked back. I was only ten at the time, but still, I can remember the night he left so clearly. Sometimes, it still feels like it just happened yesterday. I guess some wounds never heal.

It was close to midnight on a hot, summer night in July. My parents were asleep in our undersized living room after another day of too much indulgence and little of nothing else. The stench of cigarette smoke hung thick in the air as I quietly padded down the narrow hallway, the door to our shared bedroom cracked open just enough so I could peek inside and I swear, it looked like a tornado had just torn through the small space.

I suppose that was fitting since it felt like my life had always been a storm.

The broken drawers on our weathered dresser hung askew, and I could see that what little clothing we owned was poured out onto the ugly green carpet that covered the floor of the apartment. Jaxon's back was to me, his thin arms quickly but quietly stuffing things into his favorite backpack. I could still see the musical note patch I'd given him on his thirteenth birthday sewn into the fabric. It was lame, but it was from me, and that's how I knew he loved it.

"Jaxon?" I had whispered, my small voice shaking. I remember hating that I sounded every bit as scared as I felt. I stared intently as my big brother, always so strong and brave, slowly turned to face me. I could hear my breath catch in the quietness of the room as he raised his eyes to me—blue, just like my own—and I was stunned to see his face wet with tears. It was the first time I'd _ever_ seen him cry, and it was the very last.

It was in that exact moment that I knew, I knew exactly what he was doing. And what's more than that, I understood _why_. I was barely ten years old, but as I watched my big brother, my protector, my _best friend_ haul his too-heavy backpack onto his too-thin and shaking shoulders, I understood.

I understood because I had spent more nights than my fifth-grade brain could count, dreaming and imagining that someday, I would do the same thing. One day, I would be big enough and strong enough to _leave_. To run away and never look back.

And that's exactly what Jaxon was doing.

I took a deep breath. "I don't want you to go," I told him as my chest started to hurt. _Please don't leave me,_ I wanted to beg him as my throat began to clog. _Let me come with you. Don't leave me here alone. Who will protect me? Who will I play cards with? Who will make everything better when everything is bad and awful and wrong?_

"I know," Jaxon replied, and I watched with rapt attention as another tear fell. I wanted to hug him. I wanted him to hug _me._ I needed my brother to tell me that everything was going to be okay. "But I can't stay here."

"I know." And I did—I _knew_ , I _understood_. I understood that if he stayed, our father would just continue to use him as his personal punching bag. He'd continue to show up to school with bruises all over his face and body. He'd continue to spiral into sadness, just like our mother when she cried every morning and every night. Jaxon would never survive if he stayed here another day. I knew this, and I hated every minute of it.

"I'll come back for you," he told me, and I knew he meant it.

I could barely lift my tired head to nod, I was so sad. But I did it, and I did it for him. "Okay," I said, my voice every bit as small as I felt.

For the very last time that I would ever see, he grinned at me. "Okay."

 **...**

When I was sixteen, my father beat me within an inch of my life. It was the first and last time he'd ever put his hands on me.

It was also the day I got out.

For all I know, Jaxon did come back for me.

But I was already gone.

 **...**

I was seventeen when I met Samantha for the very first time. She was new to town, new in school. Within two days of her arrival, Samantha became the girl that all the guys wanted, and all the girls wanted to be. She was like no one I'd ever met before, and she made damn sure I knew it.

Our relationship turned toxic very quickly, the two of us indulging in all the things that Las Vegas had to offer for people like us. We skipped way too much school, drank too much alcohol, smoked too much, gambled too much, and stole things too much. One thing I learned very quickly about Samantha was that there was never any middle ground with her; it was always either too much or not enough, all or nothing.

But everything was so new and exciting with her, exhilarating and addicting. It was like nothing I had ever expected from life, but everything I didn't know I needed and craved at the time. For the first time since Jaxon left, I finally felt like I wasn't alone anymore.

Samantha Valentine was all I had back then, and I'd take whatever I could get from her. And she gave me _everything_ ; her addictive mind, her fascinating and mischievous personality, her alluring body. It was all mine for the taking, so I took. And took, and took, and took.

But I wasn't the only one of us that took things. Samantha stole from me too—tiny, little pieces of who I was until one day, I didn't recognize myself anymore. Gone was the scared boy who grew up afraid of what tomorrow would bring. I was now Jasper from Vegas—bigger, better, smarter, _stronger_. But I was also emptier, and more broken than I ever could have imagined.

And there wasn't a soul on this planet that could change that now.

 **...**

"Come on, baby. You're not still mad at me, are you?" Samantha cooed in a voice that I was _very_ quickly getting sick of. It felt like everything she did lately pissed me off, pushed me a little further away from this comfortable bubble the two of us have been living in, wreaking havoc in, for the past five years.

I was twenty-two years old now, and I was just as lost as I'd ever been.

Very shortly after we met, Samantha and I took our fate into our own hands. We ditched school completely, and pushed the first domino that led to a long chain of depraved events and that's why we were where we are now—living paycheck to paycheck, sleeping in filthy motel rooms, crashing on friends couches. I often missed the quiet simplicity that was my life before Hurricane Samantha came and ripped everything apart. But she was all I had, so I stuck around.

I tightened the white towel around my waist and moved to where I had laid out my fresh clothes on the moth-smelling comforter on the motel bed before I'd jumped in the shower. I had been anxious to wash the last twenty-four hours off my body, scrubbing my skin until it felt raw beneath the running water.

"Mad at you?" I echoed incredulously, throwing my t-shirt over my body angrily. " _Mad_ at you? Of course I'm mad at you. I just spent the last twenty-four hours in prison, _Sammy_." My voice curled around that last word coldly. I knew she hated when I called her that, but unfortunately for her, I was twenty-four hours passed giving a damn.

I shook my head, angry. Angry at her, angry at myself. Just so fucking angry. I don't know what I expected from her—this is who she was, who she's always been: disorder and mayhem. _Too much_ , I thought to myself. _This was too goddamn much._

"First of all," she steamrolled ahead, like her very presence in my life wasn't the very thing that was ruining it. "You weren't in prison, you were in jail. There's a big difference. Second—"

I ran my fingers through my wet hair, shaking my head in disbelief. It felt like I was spitting venom when I growled, "Don't you _dare_ try to get out of this on a technicality..."

" _Second_ of all," Samantha cut me off, not giving a damn as she got to her feet and moved to stand in front of me while I hastily finished getting dressed. Every movement was shaky, I was so anxious, so furious. "They didn't even charge you with anything. You were in there like, five minutes before I swooped in and saved the day. Not that you care since you haven't even bothered to so much as thank me."

"What the hell am I supposed to thank you for?" _Ruining everything_? I thought to myself, that small part of me from years ago beginning to ache the way it used to when my life was falling apart. I shook my head, suddenly very tired. My voice was colder than I'd ever hurt it when I quietly admitted; "I should've let him have you."

The _him_ I was referring to being the asshole from last night that had his grimy hands all over her extremely unwilling body. I heard her tell him no at least half a dozen times before I stepped in. That's when the fight between us broke out.

It started between swift kicks to his stomach, a sucker-punch to his jaw, a blow to the head and ended with me in handcuffs, being thrown into the back of a squad card while that bastard played the victim to the police, as if he hadn't been seconds away from sexually assaulting Sam.

For the briefest moment, the look on her face was as if I slapped her. I was about to say something to fix it before Samantha quickly schooled her expression. "You're gonna regret saying that after I tell you what I've been doing while you've been holed up all night."

I was mentally and physically exhausted—so beyond finished with everything at the moment, but still, there was something in her voice that gave me pause. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? Oh, nothing, just the thing that'll make us rich—set us up for _life_." I remained quiet; startled at the direction our conversation had taken. My eyes were inquisitive as her idea lit up her entire face. It made me sick—it gave me hope. "Royal Security."

I didn't know it at the time, but that was the very moment that my entire life changed course. And nothing in this world could have prepared me for what—or _who_ —would come next.


	2. Lightning

_**AN: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed part one of this story. I do have to say that the storyline took a completely different direction than I had initially intended for this story, so I think I will definitely be writing more Jasper and Eleanor pieces in the future. Thank you for your support and kind words, and I look forward to your thoughts on part two. Happy reading!**_

 **Part Two: Lightning**

I thought I dreaming the day I met Eleanor Henstridge for the first time.

It was the only logical explanation. It didn't make a bit of sense to my befuddled brain that any one person on this planet could actually be that breathtakingly beautiful. But Eleanor was and still is. She was both those things and so much more. Within just minutes of meeting her, I could see that Eleanor was lightning in a bottle.

Devastating, destructive, impossible—but worth it.

Eleanor Henstridge wasn't just the calm before the storm, she _was_ the storm. And from the very first moment I laid eyes on her, I wanted like never before to get swept up in her chaos, drenched in her storm.

...

Ted Pryce seemed like a good enough man. After picking me up at the airport and driving us back to the palace himself, he dove straight in about protocol and procedure. There was so much to learn. I nodded along and spoke at all the right times, though I worried constantly about my accent slipping. I had tirelessly practiced it in between sleeping on the plane and cramming every little bit of information I could about this family into my brain but actually being here in England, in _the palace_ , I suddenly felt overwhelmed and incredibly out of my depth.

I could feel beads of sweat dripping down my back, my collar suddenly too tight around my throat. I had the fleeting thought that I couldn't go through with this. Conning one person is one thing but an entire family? _The Royal_ _family_? This was big, maybe too big, even for me.

In my head, I was going over a million reasons why I should just quit while I'm ahead, cut tail and run—and that's when I saw her for the first time.

Eleanor Alexandra Henstridge.

The princess.

I felt it between us, the lightning. It was so tangible in the air, bursting with it and it was in that exact moment, when Eleanor's emerald eyes met my blue ones for the very first time, I knew: there may be a million reasons why I should quit, but now I was looking at the one reason I instinctually knew I would stay.

I knew right away she was unlike anything I or anyone else thought she was. Everything I'd pictured about princesses was thrown out the window with one glance at this woman. Where I had previously pictured perfectly styled hair, ball gowns and crowns and a holier-than-thou attitude a mile wide, there was a mass of mahogany tresses that fell in waves down her back and around her shoulders. There was black mini-dresses and leather jackets that looked like they were made to fit her slim figure and her eyes—bright, intriguing and exquisite.

"Your Highness," Ted Pryce spoke up, his words just barely pulling me out of my own head as he gestured to where I stood beside him. I wondered if my blatant and sudden attraction to the princess was as evident to them as it was to me. "There's somebody that I would like for you to meet. This here is Jasper Frost, your new security detail. I thought it was prudent the two of you get acquainted, especially before—"

Eleanor tilted her head. "Before the dinner to honor my newly deceased brother?" Her voice was raspy, hard as stone. I had the brief thought that she must be breaking apart on the inside, but here she presented herself, put together as ever. I couldn't help but admire her for that, holding herself together when it would just be so easy to fall apart. Her eyes glassed over with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher as she finally spared me a glance. "Of course." Much to my surprise, a grin pulled at her luscious lips, her dimple poking at the side of her right cheek. "Alright then, where did you come from?"

"I—what?" I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Couldn't _breathe_.

I watched with rapt attention as her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched over her eyes as she asked me again, this time quite slower than the last, "Where. Did. You. Come. From?" Glancing at Pryce, she asked him, "He _does_ speak the English language, yes?"

Before I appeared more incompetent in front of my superior _and_ the princess, I spoke. "Uh—Vegas, Your Highness," I stuttered, hating how shaky my voice sounded. "Las Vegas, Nevada if you would like to be exact."

That piqued her interest. "Sin City, interesting." A sultry smile pulled at her lips as her eyes looked me over head to toe, unbeknownst to her leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "Jasper Frost from Vegas." I swallowed deeply as she took a small step towards me, my breath catching in my throat as her delicate fingers reached out to loosen my tie from my collar, something I'd been wanting to do since the plane landed.

Peeking up at me from beneath her full eyelashes, Eleanor husked out, "It's strange, bodyguard. I've got the most nagging feeling that there's absolutely _nothing_ about you that's frosty. Am I wrong, _Jasper_ from Vegas?"

 _No_. I thought to myself, remembering my own storms, _You're not wrong._

Eleanor's lips quirked up in blatant amusement as I continued to stare blankly at her. "Thank you Mr. Pryce for introducing me to my new detail. I think I can take it from here." I heard Ted excuse himself before turning around and walking back the same way we came. Eleanor was full on grinning as her small hand gently wrapped around my wrist. "Come with me, bodyguard. We have a dinner to prepare for."

I watched in amazement as she pushed against the wall with her spare hand until it gave way. My eyes widened. I was quickly shocked to learn that the secret passageway gave way to secret tunnels beneath the palace grounds. It was easily the coolest thing I'd ever seen.

I gawked at my surroundings as Eleanor picked up her pace in front of me, ever the leader. I tried not to pay attention to the way the material of her dress molded to her backside as she walked. _That_ was not part of any of this, and the last thing I needed was to get more involved with the princess than I have to.

Get in, get the diamond, and get out.

I repeated this to myself like a mantra, a prayer.

A reminder—a _warning_.

It was after our second turn to the left and at least our fourth turn to the right did I speak up. I thought for sure we were lost. "Perhaps I could call the keeper of the cellar, Your Majesty?" I wish I was as calm on the inside as my voice sounded on the outside.

"It's Deputy Roman of the Royal Cellars." Eleanor was quick to correct me. It made me smile. I hid it, like I would hide so much from her in the future. My stomach twisted. "And it's _Your Highness_. If you're going to work here, you better learn the language."

Now that was something I could agree with. "Apologies, Your Highness."

"Are you nervous?" I could hear the smile in her voice.

I tried my luck at honesty. "Uh—very much so, yes."

"Why? Because I'm the princess or because you think I'm hot?"

Damn, Princess Eleanor sure didn't pull any punches, did she? "Well, no, because you're the princess." She stopped in her tracks to glance at me expectantly, amused. "Because you're hot," I quickly added, to which she scolded me.

" _Inappropriate_."

"Apologies, Your Highness." I couldn't keep up with her.

It was exhilarating.

"I'm messing with you," she assured me. I held my breath as she turned around suddenly, reaching out back to my tie, this time to straighten it. "Though, I _do_ have serious concerns about your ability to guard my body, Jasper." I tried not to gawk at her words, though I was sure my attraction towards her was blatant in my eyes. "The good news for you is that I can look after myself. Now here, hold out your arms."

I hadn't even realized that we reached our destination. Doing as I was told, Eleanor placed a large wooden box in my grasp. I chanced a look inside, surprised to see so many bottles of what I could only assume was vintage wine. I suddenly had the worrying thought that we shouldn't be down here. Great, I was going to get sacked on my first day for fencing stolen goods, and I'd never get a chance at the diamond and—

"Okay, you look concerned." Eleanor's words brought me out of my own head. "There are twenty-five thousand bottles of wine down here, Jasper. I'm the princess. My house, my wine."

Her words relieved me. "Of course, yes."

"But look, if Deputy Roman sees you, you're an alcoholic burglar, got it?" Reaching into the box I was still holding, her eyes lit up. "Oooh, this is a 1942 something or other. After I drink this, I'm gonna need you to find a _really_ good spot to hide the evidence."

 _Wait_. "Sorry, you just said—"

"Okay, you can go." Eleanor was quick to dismiss me before adding, "And tomorrow night, we're going out. Could you lighten up?"

 _She had no idea._

"Of course, Your Highness."

Feeling confused, guilty and already knowing that I was in too deep, I began to turn away—but there was just one more thing I wanted to say to Eleanor before I headed to the surveillance room for the evening.

I took a deep breath. "Your Highness?"

"Mmmm?" Eleanor replied off-handedly, still facing away from me as she continued to dig through wooden box after wooden box, looking for something that would make what she is and would continue to go through with this new heavy burden thrust upon her and her family even remotely bearable.

But she would never find it, this I knew from experience. No matter how many years went by or how old she got, Eleanor and the rest of her family would always carry this grief—this loss—with them. And no amount of anything would ever change that.

"I'm sorry about your brother," I said, meaning every word. I watched regretfully as the impact of my words hit her like a physical blow. I knew better than anyone about the pain that those words carried, but I also knew of their power—their comfort. And if nothing else for however long I would know Eleanor Henstridge, she could at least take some comfort from this moment shared between two people more lost and broken than they would ever let anyone see.

Eleanor turned around slowly, and it hurt me more than I would ever admit to see her beautiful emerald eyes glassed over with tears as they carried a sadness that can only come from losing someone you loved so much.

"You know you're the first person to say that to me?" Eleanor mused quietly, and I shook my head in reply, feeling angry and deeply sad. Looking down at the bottle of wine clutched in her head, a wistful yet vulnerable smile pulled at her lips as she told me something I would always carry with me. "You'll never know what you just gave me. Thank you."

I nodded in acquiesce, somehow knowing this quiet moment was the calm before _our_ storm. "Goodnight, Your Highness."

Eleanor's eyes softened, my breath taken away. "Goodnight, Jasper Frost from Vegas."


End file.
